A rough translation.
Translation isn't about what he said.
It's about what you think. …
Death has erected a throne, in an alien land
Where everyone arrives alone.
Far away in the half light of gleaming, long set suns
Where saint and sinner
The worst and the best of them
Have gone for ever in peace.
There, where temples, palaces and rotting towers
Expire in time that never trembles.
Like nothing on earth, nothing we would recognise.
Everything around it, forgotten by the winds that fail to move them
Resigned to rest forever under skies of melancholy waters.
From the sacred sky, no beam descends to the black night of this city;
But a ghostly splendour reflected by the livid sea it invades.
It lights silently on and along the battlements.
Into the depths, onto the domes,the roof tops, of the palaces of reality
On the shrines on the walls of Babylon
And on the shaded solitude of ancient time.
Bastions of sculpted ivy and flowers of stone.
On so much.
And so much immoderate and wonderful
Friezes and coronets interlaced with carnations, violets and vines.
Under the seeping sky, resigned, the waters rest.
The towers and their shadows convoluted in such a way that everything seems suspended in the air.
And from such towers the skulls of death
The Great Spectre contemplates an eternity that lies at its feet.
Where the open temples and the graves unmarked
Yawn in the dead, flat, luminous waters;
Nothing in the glory that appeals to the eye.
Not the diamond eyes of idols.
Nor the trinkets on the dead
For all their gold adornments
And their jewellery interred with them
Where they move to the undulations
Of their watery beds
Winking in the phosphorescence
Amid vast deserts of crystal
Not a wave indicates that the winds could bring them
Once more to life on distant and happier seas
Not a tremor
Not a glimmer of a suspicion
Lends support to the fact that they ever existed
Where winds from the seas once brought a less stultifying dew in the night.